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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28629597">in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/xancredible/pseuds/xancredible'>xancredible</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Yngvi &amp; Fritjof [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dungeons &amp; Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drama, Dwarves, Established Relationship, Heartbreak, Hopeful Ending, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:14:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,609</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28629597</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/xancredible/pseuds/xancredible</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The tale of Yngvi and Fritjof.</p><p>Prequel to a homebrew D&amp;D campaign.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original D&amp;D Character(s)/Original D&amp;D Character(s), Original Male Character/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Yngvi &amp; Fritjof [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2148759</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Tales of Voskye (Dungeons and Dragons Homebrew Campaign)</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The title comes from "Cosmic Love" by Florence + The Machine.</p><p>This is just a little something about my DnD character, Yngvi. You don't need to know anything about our campaign to enjoy this, I believe.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They don’t have many truly warm nights as far up the mountain as they live, but whenever they do, Yngvi makes sure to volunteer for night shepherding duty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just loves the way the air smells, how even when there’s wind, it’s often just a soft, warm breeze. It’s such a change from the frosty bite that usually accompanies every day and night up here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yngvi wonders, on those nights, what it would be like to leave the clan and travel, to find other places as warm as this. He’s read stories of deserts and oceans and he could never quite picture what they look like. He imagines the ocean would look like the sky, blue and endless, and a desert like the alpine pastures where the goats graze, but made of rock dust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wonders if he’ll ever get the chance to see any of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d have to leave his family behind, brothers and sisters, his parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins… None of them would understand. All of them are so happy to live the life they have. They tease him for reading legends even though he’s no longer a child, but Yngvi dreams of becoming a hero like the ones he reads about, both in the legends and history books.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His family are farmers, and they’re an integral part of their community. Without their goats, their sheep, and their oats, the clan wouldn’t have enough food, or wool for clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when he gets the chance, he learns from some of the blacksmiths in their clan. Yngvi wants to know about weapons—a master of battle should always know as much as they can about the tools they use—and when he has made himself a sword or an axe or anything at all that can be used for fighting, he’ll use his time herding animals to practice moves he read about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no way of knowing if he’s doing any of the moves right or if he’s learning bad form. While the Forge Keepers aren’t as peaceful as the Mountain Hall, they don’t train their clan members in combat the way that other races do. Their position in the mountain protects them from intruders, and the weapons they make are to be sold to wealthy buyers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Yngvi does as well as he can, and wishes he could go someplace and truly learn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the sheep bleats and pulls Yngvi out of his thoughts. There’s the noise of grass rustling not too far away, and Yngvi smiles. He turns to see Fritjof approaching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was worried you wouldn’t come,” Yngvi says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were not,” Fritjof teases.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right, I wasn’t,” Yngvi says, smugness in every word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fritjof laughs softly, and when he reaches Yngvi, leans in to kiss him once on the lips, just for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a beautiful night, I had to promise my brother I wouldn’t steal any more from him. He loves being out here in the summer almost more than you do,” Fritjof says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I find that hard to believe,” Yngvi says. He doesn’t much like Fritjof’s brother, Frodi, who acts like he knows everything, and knows it better than anybody else just because his name means ‘wise one.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sit, shoulder to shoulder, on one of the stones at the edge of the pasture. It’s still a little warm from the sun that beat down on it all day, and they tell each other about the days they’ve had since they last were able to see each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Mountain Hall has been discussing ways to increase trade between them and people living in Thycia and Voskye. Where the Forge Keepers used to sell weapons to both sides of the war, and now continue to sell them to whoever pays the best price, the Mountain Hall has made a name for themselves by crafting the most beautiful and delicate jewellery. They still make weapons, but just like the Forge Keepers’ jewellery is of a good quality but not worth much, the Mountain Hall’s weapons are serviceable but lack finesse and artistry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fritjof gave Yngvi a bracelet, not too long ago. Just like Yngvi isn’t a weapon smith by trade, Fritjof isn’t a jewellery maker. The bracelet, to anyone who understands more about these things, would look crude and ugly with the braided goatskin leather band, and the two beard beads—one from each of them—woven into the design, perfectly symmetrical, an equal distance from the center of the bracelet, where he set a medal engraved with their initials. Yngvi doesn’t wear it on his wrist, too worried about someone in his clan seeing it. He does keep it in his pocket at all times so he can touch it, and run his fingers over the beads whenever he needs reassurance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yngvi tells Fritjof about how his cousins teased him—again—about re-enacting fairy tales for the young ones. Idar and Ivarr, his two younger siblings, love to hear the stories, though, and so do the other children in the clan. Yngvi loves acting out the funny bits, and yes, the grand fights. More than that, though, he likes making the little ones happy. Their laughter is one of the few good sounds to be heard up here. That, and Fritjof’s voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fritjof hums. “Let’s not talk about our families anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yngvi is only too happy to agree. He takes Fritjof’s hand and squeezes it. Together, they lie down in the grass, side by side, fingers intertwined, and look up at the stars. There are almost no clouds in the sky tonight, and that in itself is a miracle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later, when they’re naked, and the warm breezes are no longer quite so warm on their sweaty skin, Yngvi will tell Fritjof about the heroes who are immortalised by the images the stars draw, and Fritjof will make up songs about them, singing them quietly for only Yngvi to hear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Yngvi will dream about a day when they leave together, to see other stars, hear other stories, and find new places to be together without anyone or anything trying to keep them apart.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Fritjof’s family home is decorated with banners in bright colours, as many wild flowers as the children could pick on the pastures, and intricate garlands made of metal, forged by the clan’s blacksmiths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This at least makes it easier for Yngvi to find.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s managed to go undiscovered by any member of the Mountain Hall. Everyone is far too busy preparing for the wedding to pay any attention to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fritjof’s front door is open, as is their custom, to welcome visitors and well-wishers with open arms on this day of celebration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This, too, Yngvi welcomes on his quest. Nevertheless, he keeps his eyes and ears open for people who might recognise him as one not of their own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fritjof sits in the middle of the communal hall at the centre of the home. He’s surrounded by bundles of new clothes, wooden boxes and chests, doubtlessly filled with jewellery, armour, weapons, and trinkets, both beautiful and valuable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yngvi had expected to find half of Fritjof’s family surrounding him, but luck is with him and he catches him in a moment when he’s entirely alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Yngvi is stuck in the entryway, just staring at Fritjof, who looks more handsome than ever before in his fine clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s got a bundle of fabric on his lap and strokes the material. It looks soft and warm. Sheepskin but dyed a deep red. Yngvi knows how much Fritjof likes the colour, and how well it suits him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of clattering dishes in the distance makes Fritjof look up, straight at Yngvi. He stands abruptly, letting the sheepskin fall to the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yngvi,” he whispers. “What are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only takes a few steps for them to meet, and Yngvi pulls Fritjof into a hug. He holds him tightly, desperate never to let him go again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promised I’d come to take you away, didn’t I?” Yngvi says into Fritjof’s ear. “Have you ever known me to break a promise?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Fritjof says, and maybe Yngvi’s imagining it but it sounds like it shakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yngvi pulls back to smile at Fritjof. “No,” Yngvi agrees. “And so here I am. Now let’s go before someone misses you. Sharindlar and Vergadain smile on us today, let’s not waste their blessing.” He takes Fritjof’s hand and looks around the room for another exit. They can’t leave through the front door, but there’ll be a side door somewhere through which they can slip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which way?” Yngvi asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yngvi,” Fritjof says, and Yngvi turns to look at him. Fritjof’s face is a mask of despair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Yngvi cups Fritjof’s face with his free hand and is glad when Fritjof turns to nuzzle into his palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yngvi,” Fritjof says, and this time Yngvi is sure that his voice shakes. “I cannot go with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t say that,” Yngvi says. He squeezes Fritjof’s hand, and guides Fritjof’s face to look at him again. “My darling, you do not love Ásketill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I might,” Fritjof says. “I am fond of him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yngvi drops his hand from Fritjof’s face. “And what is that fondness compared to what we feel for each other?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Fritjof begs. “Don’t you see, Yngvi? I cannot leave my family. They need me. My parents only have Frodi and me where you have four siblings. And Ásketill has spent so much time and effort on the home he has built and furnished for us. Allying his family with mine will bring us more stability in the clan as well. I cannot just ignore the needs of my family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing is, Yngvi loves Fritjof for his loyalty, and for how much he loves his family. Yngvi might not like Frodi, but he knows how much he means to Fritjof.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet, Fritjof had said often that he’d go away with Yngvi whenever Yngvi talked about travelling and seeing other places. Should all of that have been a lie?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not happy here,” Yngvi implores. “Your family would lose you, yes, but they’re not like mine. They’d welcome you back for visits. They’d accept your help even if you eloped with a Forge Keeper. In time, they might even let both of us live here, once we’ve seen all that we wanted to see of the world. Leaving now doesn’t have to be goodbye forever for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t say that his family has already banished him. He doesn’t want Fritjof to go with him out of obligation or pity. But the truth is that Yngvi cannot go back anymore. His father disowned him, his mother shunned him. He wasn’t allowed to say goodbye to any of his siblings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All that he’s taking with him is what he’s carrying in the bag on his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Fritjof says, voice breaking. “I’m so, so sorry. I never wanted to break my promise to you, but neither can I break my promise to my family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yngvi lets go of Fritjof’s hand. Steps away from him. A deathly calm falls over him, as if he’s in the eye of a storm and although the world around him is crumbling, you would not know it from looking at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches for his left wrist and pushes back the sleeve of his shirt. He put on Fritjof’s bracelet before he told his parents where he was going. He’d been sure that he’d never take it off again once he felt free to tie it to his wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How quickly everything changes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only takes one sharp tug and the leather band breaks. Fritjof’s eyes fill with tears as he gasps: “No, don't!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too late. Ynngvi holds it in his hand, frayed ends dangling, and the metal still warm from his pulse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I accept your decision,” Yngvi says. “And I give this back to you as a token of my pledge that I won’t come back to burden your life ever again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets the bracelet drop to the floor. It makes the slightest clinking sound as metal hits stone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yngvi allows himself one last look at Fritjof, the beloved face now contorted with unhappiness, then turns and walks back out the same way he came.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can hear the thud of someone falling to their knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s tempted to turn around and see Fritjof kneeling on the floor, crying over what he lost—over what he made both of them lose—but he doesn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t trust himself not to go back to comfort Fritjof and take it all back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fritjof made his choice, and so did Yngvi. He’s a man of his word, and with nowhere left to go, he finds his way out of the Mountain Hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world lies at his feet, and he’s going to find a new life, far away from the Minoan Mountains. Maybe he’ll even find people who will become a new family.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Fritjof looks… Yngvi wishes he didn't look so good. Despite everything, Fritjof looks good—better now that he's a little older, has seen more of the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yngvi's ready to slash open the back of this tent and just leave. He’s not ready to deal with this. Out of all the things he expected to find here when he heard there were dwarves from the Minoan Mountains in Tsavor, Fritjof certainly wasn't one of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hears himself agree to speak to Fritjof outside. He doesn't know if that's a good idea. He wants to punch something, possibly Fritjof. He wants to pull him close and find out if he still smells like he did back then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fritjof tells him about the nobles who visited the Mountain Hall, how their visit split not just the clan—again—but Fritjof and Ásketill, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yngvi's got a hard time following anything after that. He hears Fritjof's apology. Hears him say that he regrets not following his heart back then. He hears Fritjof's plea for them to fight alongside each other, if nothing else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's so much Yngvi could say right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>'I've missed you too, every day.'</span>
</p><p>
  <span>'Why wouldn't you go with me back then? I thought you loved me more than anything else, just like I did you.'</span>
</p><p>
  <span>'Everything I do is so I can be worthy of you.'</span>
</p><p>
  <span>'My family shunned me for loving you, and I can't ever go back.'</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wish I hadn’t given back the bracelet. I still sometimes reach into my pocket, expecting to find it, only to be reminded that it's no longer there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>'I do still have one of your letters, the one you sent along with a strand of your hair. I kept that, too. I don't look at them anymore. Every time I do, the urge to go back home and find you overwhelms me. I can't get rejected by you again. So I try to forget, but I can't bear to throw these last, precious reminders of our love away either. After all, they're all I've got left of you.'</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn't say any of it. He promises to help the people in the camp. It's what they came here for anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fritjof touches him for the first time in twelve years, and even after he lets go, Yngvi can feel the touch as if it were burning a hole through his armour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once this is over, maybe Yngvi will find a way to talk to Fritjof. Ask him why. Why didn't you love me enough? Why are you telling me all this now? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And maybe—maybe—there's hope for them after all.</span>
</p>
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